


God Knows I Tried

by Einarein



Category: Peaky Blinders
Genre: Alcohol Abuse, Explicit Language, F/M, Mentions of Rape, Mentions of War, PTSD, Peaky Blinders - Freeform, Sexual Situations, Violence, drug usage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-08-11 11:37:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20152966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Einarein/pseuds/Einarein
Summary: "My guess is you were relieved when your William died, because your aristocratic upbringing and him being the low working class of Birmingham just wasn't going very well with your family in particular. The weight that fell from your shoulders when you found out he was dead made you ashamed, so you ran away the second the war was over and stayed away. Right?" He's smug in his accusation."I'm not an evil woman. I didn't wish death on him. I just found a silver lining in it." I defend myself quietly.





	1. Blinders

**Author's Note:**

> Based on “God Knows I Tried” by Lana Del Rey

Blind•ers ( /ˈblīndərz/ )  
something that prevents someone from gaining a full understanding of a situation

\1\

Étaples, France  
1916

St. John's is, ironically, living hell. 

We all scramble to tend to red-striped marked soldiers who're all groaning and cursing in pain, some of them wailing in a panic as they're piled anywhere they can get, including on the floors and table tops where there's no longer any room in the 520 bed hospital. 

"'Volunteering will bring you immense joy and sense of satisfaction, Ciara. You'll feel accomplished'." Ciara mocks the Red Cross employees that accompanied the VAD nurses that she was shipped in with from Camden Town, in her thick London accent. "'Accomplished' my Jewish ass." 

"You wouldn't be insinuating you don't want to be here, would you, Miss Tailen?" I ask her, hurriedly wrapping a compression bandage around one soldiers severally sliced open forehead until we can stitch it up. 

"I've been a bloody nurse the past two years. I've been exhausted past the point of no return. I've been all over God's green creation. I've been shot at, screamed at, nearly gone deaf due to air raids, cut up with shrapnel, pissed on, bled on, thrown up on, I've seen detached limbs, blown off ears, decapitated heads, missing fingers, and I've seen a man die of heartbreak because the only injury he sustained was having his cock shot off. And let's not forget Chantilly where I hadn't slept for five days straight and had to be knocked out in order to rest. So, I'm sorry if I have come to the realization that I don't want to fucking be here, Penélope." She huffs out over the chaos around us, a strand of her vivid red hair hanging out of her nursing cap. 

"You need to be glad you're in here instead of in the trenches, you whiner." The man she's dousing in antiseptic groans out to her in a thick French accent. 

"Elle va te couper. Se comporter." I warn him, raising a brow.

"You and your cousin conspiring against me or something?" She barks at me and I look at her pointedly. 

"All French people aren't related. And I told him to behave himself or you'd cut him, Ciara." I reply honestly and she finishes up cleaning his wounds. 

"At least if I were in the trenches I could get all my anger out and shoot some German bastards." She tells the man before moving to her next patient. 

"She's crazy." He tells me. 

"She's the best at whatever it is she does. Even if she doesn't want to do it." I argue politely before hurrying to my next patient. 

"Penélope, he wants a brandy!" I hear Eloise call and I look up to see her slender, pale, figure standing over a man that's inevitably going to die. 

"Give it to him!" I call back, cutting the shirt from my current patient. 

"I want a brandy, too." He tells me, and I recognize his accent immediately as I examine his nasty wounds. 

"Once you're setttled." I reply, not appreciating the nasty rot on a couple of his toes. "Birmingham's given you thick skin. Congratulations." I assure him and he raises his brows. 

"You know Birmingham?" He asks and I drench a sterile cloth with antiseptic. 

"My fiancé is William Ray Lowe." I inform him. 

"Willy Ray, yeah." He says through clenched teeth as I clean the dirt away from his foot, only for the skind to come completely off the top of it like the skin of a burnt piece of chicken. I don't even think he feels it, the nerves so damaged. "I'm Norsal Danielson, by the way. I grew up with him, though he's never introduced any of us boys to you." 

"Penélope." I introduce myself. "And I've never met any of his friends. Only his family." I agree, glancing around quickly before asking, "do you know where he is out there?" 

"Last I heard he was in the tunnels with Sergeant Major Thomas Shelby."

"Alright." I nod. "I'll get you your brandy when I reach a stopping point." I assure him once I've looked for any more wounds, and go to search for a medic to come see about his foot.

"Can I have a cigarette, too?" He asks and I smile. 

"Of course."

Birmingham, England  
1919

I nearly break my neck scrambling off the train as fast as possible, feeling cooped up and cloister phobic for far too long. 

The deep breath of air I take to try to calm myself is soiled with the stench that is Birmingham, though nostalgic, nevertheless. 

I see Norsal and his wife, Kerri, waiting for me with wide smiles and I prepare myself for whatever sappy reunion is bound to occur. 

"You packed a lot heavier than I thought you would." He comments when I reach him, putting my things in the back of his car before attacking me in a tight hug that has my feet off the ground due to our height difference. 

"I'm staying a bit." I reply, getting back on my feet, being greeted with a warm hug by his wife. 

"Anyone who helps my husband is welcome to stay as long as they'd like." She offers kindly. 

"I'll most likely be going back and forth from lodging to your house and everywhere in between." I state, realizing Norsal's finally gotten a car. "And when did you get this?" I motion to the automobile and he and his wife glance at each other knowingly. 

"I've been saving up with the money you've sent us. I feel guilty for taking money from you, though." He admits and I roll my eyes. 

"I keep getting sent hefty amounts of it." I wave my hand as if it's no big deal, climbing in to the car. "That's another reason why I've come. Once I get settled, I'm going to need you two to point me in the direction of one Thomas Shelby." 

The atmosphere shifts tremendously and Norsal gives me a grave look. 

"What the fuck kind of business do you have with the likes of him, Penélope?" He asks me sternly and I raise a brow. 

"Well, that's what I'm going to find out, Norsal. So, where would I find him?" 

\1\

"You remember the Garrison, don't you?" Norsal asks as he helps me out of the car, motioning to the pub a ways down the street from us. 

"I heard William speak of it many times. He never brought me here." I reply. "I actually only came to Birmingham twice. Once to meet his family, and the second time was to tell his family goodbye before the war. He either came to Paris or we met in London while we were dating those few months before we engaged and he moved to France with me."

"Well, you're in for it tonight, then." He mumbles. "Try not to be too noticeable. The men here are barbaric when they're drunk, the lot of them, at least. And don't be waving around the name Shelby or you'll have every one of those Peaky Blinders breathing down your neck." He warns. 

"Peaky Blinders?" I furrow my brows and he raises his brows. 

"William really did keep you as far away as possible from this place, didn't he?" 

Once we get inside, we're met by singing lead by a blonde woman standing in a chair. 

"Harry, you remember my friend Penélope I told you about? William Lowe's fianceé." Norsal greets his long time friend and the man looks me up and down and smiles politely. 

"You mean the one he left us in the dirt for? Of course I remember." He replies. "Nice to officially meet you." 

"You, too." I nod, glancing around the joint at the obvious working class surrounding the singing woman, completely silent as she carries on her tune. 

"What will you be drinking?" Harry asks us and I look at him. 

"Rum. White or brown, it doesn't matter." 

"Coming right up, Miss." he assure me, stepping behind the bar as I'm hearing that the woman is about to come up on the chorus, and I like the song she's singing. 

"The boy I love is up in the gallery," she sings as the group in the pub, including myself, sing along with her. "The boy I love is looking at me—"

I don't hear a word else of what she sings as the doors open and everyone stops singing again, leaving her to herself as a group of men enter. 

Norsal gently pushes me behind him as if the men will bite at me like rabid dogs...though one of them in particular looks bothered enough to do so as he takes his peaked cap off and stares at me with vivid blue eyes for a moment before looking at the singing woman, unamused. 

She finishes up, and we all wait for something to come about before Harry cheerfully cuts in.

"We haven't had singing in here since the war." He informs the man, causing him to shift his focus. 

"Why do you think that is, Harry?" He asks rhetorically, causing a tension to settle through the room. 

I figure it's as good as time as ever to down my rum, earning a look from Norsal. 

"I want no more of it." He orders Harry and the woman who sang. "By order of the Peaky Blinders." 

"Yes sir, Tommy." Harry answers, motioning to the woman to get off the chair. 

I furrow my brows and look at Norsal as the group of men go to a side room by the door and shut it, causing everyone to get back to their business. 

"That was him?" I ask and he nods. 

"Thomas Shelby, yeah." He confirms. "You might want to catch him alone. His posse can be difficult at times." 

"And where would I catch him alone?" 

"He's out and about a lot by himself. If you look for him, he won't be difficult to find. His family are bookmakers for the horse races." He explains. "I can tell you where their office is, he's there a good bit."

I think for a moment and nod. 

"Alright."

\1\

I watch the ground carefully to keep from getting mud and god knows what else on my heels as I wrap my fur tighter around me and open the door of the address Norsal gave me. 

"Betting's closed until the next race, ma'am." A man informs me from one of the desks and I look around. 

"I'm not here to bet. I'm here to see Thomas Shelby." I correct him and he and the two others in the room look at me with undivided attention. 

"He's not in right now. Do you need one of us to take a message?" The man asks and I roll my eyes. 

"Nope."

Just as I'm about to leave, I'm stopped. 

"We're having a fire tonight, Miss. Tommy will be there." A small, little voice rings out and I turn to see a child at my heels, a small peaked cap of his own on his head as he looks up at me. 

"And how do I know you aren't lying to me? It's exhausting walking around looking for someone who doesn't particularly want to be found." I tell him and he shrugs. 

"Tommy's my brother and I'm not a liar." He assures me. "You can even come with me to round up pictures of the King for the fire, if you want to."

"That's enough, Finn." He's scolded, by the man and I ignore him. 

"Burning pictures of the king?" I ask. 

"The coppers turned over the houses last night. We're all mad as hell. Tommy says it'll make a point." He explains. 

"Finn. She's a bloody stranger. Don't involve her in shit."

"Tommy says she's William Lowe's fiancée. She's not a stranger." Finn argues and I furrow my brows. "I'm ending my rounds at the Garrison tonight just before dark. If you have any pictures of the king, bring them. We're paying two bob per picture. I'll wear my best." 

"It's a date, Mr. Shelby." I nod to the little boy who carries himself like a grown man. "Boys." I nod to the men before stepping out.

Getting back to Norsal and Kerri's, I take my coat off and leave my shoes by the door, stepping in to the kitchen to see Kerri at the counter, spreading jam onto a piece of bread. 

"How are you doing?" She asks when she sees me, her dress a little too big for her petite frame. 

Any man in Birmingham could probably throw her like a ball if they wanted to. 

"I'm well. I missed you this morning. Norsal left a note and said you two had gone to see this new horse that's been purchased." I take a seat at the table and she joins me after pouring us both some tea. 

"It's a beautiful horse." She tells me. "Whitest coat you'd ever seen. Strong, healthy..." 

A beat goes by and she clears her throat. 

"I went to school with William." She starts randomly. "We grew up together alongside those Shelby boys. He was close to Thomas and Arthur...perhaps he wanted to make sure you were taken care of good if he were to pass away in the war. Maybe that's why they've sent you money." She suggests and I lick my lips. 

"You don't 'pass away' fighting Germans in a tunnel, Kerri." I say blankly, looking at her and she exhales softly. 

"Forgive me, Penélope. It's not my place, I know. But coming to Birmingham to fuss at someone for trying to help you, as requested by your future husband, is a little foolish." 

"I'm not fussing at anyone." I argue without raising my voice. "I have plenty of money without the help of strangers I've never even heard of until now. If they were so close to William, he would've introduced me to them." 

"There are some things Will didn't want you to know about, you know? He was afraid it would've frightened you or run you of—"

"You're right, Kerri. It isn't your place." I'm harsh, my tone is acidic and she immediately has a face casted with regret. 

"My apologies." She mumbles and I excuse myself, finding the small room to be suffocating. 

\1\

I flick ash from my cigarette as I wait for the shortest, and possibly brightest, Shelby boy.

"Would you like another rum?" Harry asks me and I just blink at him. "You've already had three, Miss Lowe." He reminds me. 

"So, I have." I slide my glass to him. "And I want another." 

He only gives me a little bit this time, being that I'm probably drunker than I think I am, and I down it in one swallow, seeing Finn walk in as if he's on a mission. 

"Hey, you might have to drag me out of here by my foot." I say as he moves a chair to step on to so he can get on to the bar. 

"Finn! Lad, what're you doing?" Harry asks him as he plucks the picture of the king from the wall above the far side of the counter. 

"We're having a fire." Finn replies cooly, climbing down, grabbing my wrist and pulling me behind him. 

"Finn, she's nearly drunk!" Harry calls but we both ignore him, stepping down the street. 

"Where's this fire?" I ask. 

"Watery Lane." He tells me as we head to the next destination and I chuckle. 

"That's ironic." I mumble. 

"You have a funny voice." Finn informs me as we head that way. 

"My voice is elegant. Birmingham's accent sounds the way Birmingham smells: like shit." I shoot back at the child and he looks at me, offended. 

"Obviously isn't so bad or you wouldn't have almost married one of us and spent money to get back here." He sasses. 

"Mind your business." I reply, nudging him. 

Once we get to Watery Lane, I see the growing glow of fire down the way, following Finn through the barricade of cars and crowd of people stepping to the fire with framed pictures of the king. 

These people aren't sparing with their odd looks of confusion as to why the likes of me, someone wearing an expensive dress, a fur coat, and Parisian heels, is in a place such as this. I don't pay them any mind, though. 

"Hello, Finn lad." A man greets him as we get closer. 

"Hello, Scud." Finn replies in passing, keeping a tight grip on the picture until we reach the fire.

"Who's your friend, Finn?" I hear a man standing next to him ask as a man approaches Thomas. 

"William Lowe's fiancée, John." Finn replies. 

"Penélope." I introduce myself, tired of being referred to as "William Lowe's fiancée."

Before John can ask me, I'm already a step ahead of him. 

"The one he left Birmingham for, yes." I state and he doesn't answer, his question just been answered.

Everyone steps away from Thomas for a moment to give him some privacy with the reporter who's hitting down whatever he's saying. 

When they're finished, I take my opportunity and reach in to my coat pocket, holding out the miniature framed photo of the king that belonged to Norsal and Kerri.

"Brought you a present, Mr. Shelby." I inform him and he takes the small picture and tosses it in to the fire, taking a drag of his cigarette. 

"Why're you here?" He asks me after a moment and I wrap my coat tighter around me. 

"There's a trunk at the place I'm staying. I have it filled with money." I tell him. "More money than I know what to do with and more money than I want." 

"Put it in a safe." He suggests and I scoff. 

"It's guilt money." I hiss. "Apparently, you were good friends with my husband I'm assuming you told him you would take care of me if something were to happen to him in France and since something did, indeed, happen you felt bad for William Lowe's grieving fiancée and are trying to make up for it in currency. Correct?" I cut to the bullshit and he looks at me pointedly. "I don't need money from anyone and the state this town is in, you need it more then I do. So, I'm offering it back to you." 

"I don't fucking want it." He argues with me and I cross my arms. 

"Well, I don't want it either."

"William wanted you good and taken care of—"

"My family's taken care of me." I cut him short, raising my brows. 

"If you came here to go back and forth with me about taking the money back, you've wasted your time. Go back to your family in Paris, invest in a nice safe, keep the money locked up and pass it down to your children when you remarry. I'm not taking it back from you." He says this as if it's the end of the discussion. 

"Truth be told, I don't plan on leaving Birmingham any time soon. I didn't come here to start trouble or be a bother. I'm trying to put the past in the past and I can't do that having all that money to my name because anytime I look at it I'm reminded that I wouldn't have it if Will would have just survived." 

He stares at the fire and I nearly think he didn't hear me until he clears his throat and looks directly at me, blue eyes bearing in to my brown ones. 

"We all have our burdens to bear, Miss Lowe. Hold on to that money." He doesn't give up and I remember Norsal and Kerri mentioned that race horse. 

"You have a new horse, I hear." I change the subject and he looks at the fire once more. 

"Yeah." He replies. 

"I'm angry at you right now, but when it subsides, I want to see it." I glance at him to gauge his reaction and his face stays neutral. 

"You like horses?" He asks and I shake my head. 

"They scare me, but I do like to look at them." I say, thinking back to Norsal also mentioning the 'magic' horse that's been on a winning streak that all of Birmingham is betting on. "Do you think Monaghan Boy will win a third time?" I ask next. 

"Maybe, Maybe not. Who knows?" He says it with a hint of something in his voice and I get a good idea. 

"I'll see you sometime to meet that new horse of yours, Mr. Shelby." I turn to go. 

"Penélope," He says my name and I stop, looking back at him expectedly, waiting for him to speak. "Thomas." 

"Thomas." I test the name on my tongue and he nods. "Good night." 

A couple of days later, I'm dragging the trunk on the ground behind me, ignoring the confused looks from the people around me as I make my way down the street. 

When I get to the doorstep of where many bets are being placed, I open the door and drag my trunk up the doorstep. 

The sound of dragging silences the busy room as everyone stops what they're doing, whether it's placing bets, naming odds, scribbling down numbers or counting money, and they all stare at me. 

"Are you here to place a bet?" The man at a free desk asks me and I nod. "Your name?"

"Penélope Lowe." I say. "Betting however much is in this trunk." 

"What horse?" John asks me and I raise my brows. 

"Monaghan Boy." 

They all get a look of excitement as John and another man step to the trunk and open it, seeing the copious amount staring up at them. 

"Holy shit." John looks at me with wide eyes. "This is the biggest fucking bet that's ever been here." 

"And it's all yours." I assure them and brush my hands off.

\1\

Rain hounds down on the hospital, water leaking in some spots as soldiers groan and cry out in their sleep, those who can actually sleep through the pain of their injuries. 

Over the sound of the storm is an onslaught of footsteps and voices of men of all accents, growing closer and closer. 

I meet them outside in the rain, seeing a large group of them, some of them carried by medics, all of them drenched in blood. 

"Holy shit." I mumble to myself. "Eloise prepare some more beds." I tell her as I help usher the men in. "What happened?" I ask the medic. 

"Tunnel warfare for a couple of them. The rest were in the trenches." Is all he says and my heart sinks to my stomach. 

One man in particular is wailing, rightfully so, because he's missing a leg. 

They're either minor gunshot wounds or injuries that will most likely kill them. There is no in between. 

"Triage." I mouth to Eloise and she nods. "And go wake Ciara up!" 

We go ahead and put those who definitely aren't going to make it in comfortable beds so they at least die in a decent place as the medic continues working on those who have a chance. 

I start working on a man who's left ear has been blown off, and he looks at me calmly, his hand grasping mine tightly. 

"I can't hear much of anything." He tells me and I take a deep breath.

"Cause your bloody ear's come off, mate." Ciara pipes in passing and I glare at her. 

"It's better than not hearing anything at all. We'll fix it the best we can." I remind him, ignoring her

"Start identifying the dead." The medic says quietly to Eloise, Ciara, and I once we've gotten everyone cleaned up and bandaged, preparing blood transfusions on a few of them. 

He takes over our work as we go through the line of too-far-goners, identifying them the best that we can. 

Those without tags or discs are unable to be named, which leaves a heavy feeling in my gut, and some aren't even recognizable as humans anymore, their faces and bodies too distorted. 

"Oh, God." Eloise sounds off and I furrow my brows and look at her. 

"What is it?" I ask, stepping to where she stands shocked and mortified. 

The man she's standing over has no face, chard skin lining blood bone where his facial skin should be covered. 

"Eloise, you've seen worse." I remind her, grabbing at his identification tag. 

"William R. Lowe." I say it without comprehending it, then it hits me like a train. 

My heart sinks to my stomach, the breath leaves my lungs, and my legs nearly give out. 

"Oh, God." I repeat what Eloise had said. "Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God." 

"Penélope?" The medic asks. 

"Oh, God." Is all I can manage to say as heat prickles uncomfortably at my skin and bones. 

"P-Penélope." Eloise says calmly. 

"Oh, God." 

"You can take a second." The medic permits and I shoot a glare at him. 

"Oh, how generous of you to give her a fucking second after you have her identify her fucking husband's corpse." Ciara snaps at him. 

Two words are caught on my lips and I find myself hesitant to say them because they're cruel words to say over the dead body of my future husband and the man I love. 

...I wake myself up gasping, being met with Norsal and Kerri's worried faces staring at me as he grips my arms in his hands, about to shake me awake if I hadn't woken myself up. 

It's raining heavily outside, and I realize what I heard wasn't a bomb, it was just thunder. 

"Penélope." Norsal says, worriedly, and I look around for a moment. "Are you al—"

"I need to get out of here." I mumble, getting up from my bed and he furrows his brows, he and his wife exchanging looks. 

"It's nearly eleven, Penélope." He tells me as I scurry to pull on shoes and my coat, not bothering to change out of my night slip before I grab his keys. "And it's raining. You'll get si—"

He's silenced with the slamming of the door and I stare at the rain pouring down and head to his car. 

I get to the Garrison and bang on the door until the pretty blonde Irish woman that was singing earlier opens it.

"We're closed, ma'am." She tells me and I dig into my coat pocket and pull out the crumpled up slips of paper. 

"Get me some rum. And a lot of it." I say, pushing past her and she takes my money and examines how much it is.

I guess it's enough to satisfy because she doesn't kick me out, instead stepping behind the bar to get me my drink while I throw my heels across the room, clear off a spot on the bar that's got beer mugs and glasses on it with drink still in them, and lay down, trying to relieve the pounding in my chest and in my head. 

"Are you alright?" She asks, handing the glass out to me and I take it from her, closing my eyes. 

"That bastard should have let you sing." I voice to her, trying not to think about my haunting nightmare. 

"Do you like to sing?" She asks me and I sit up, taking a heavy swallow of drink.

"Give me a few minutes and I will once I'm drunk enough." I assure her, raising my glass a little. "My fiancé sang all the time, though. He could even sing La Marseillaise."

"Where in France are you from?" She asks next and I finish my drink and give the glass back to her to refill. 

"Born and raised in Paris." 

"And was your husband from France as well?" 

"You ask all these questions and you don't even know my name." I laugh out loud at the thought and she blinks nervously as if I'm crazy, seeing me gulp down the rest of my rum and lay back down on the bar, turning my head to face her. 

"I'm Grace." She introduces herself, raising her brows a little bit. 

"Penélope." I reply, looking back up at the ceiling. 

"You seem to have a good bit of money." She comments, timid demeanor in her voice.

"So, what?" 

"Why're you in a place like Birmingham? You can afford better."

"I like the way people here pronounce my name." I say and she doesn't ask another thing, only pouring me more Rum before another knock sounds at the door. 

Grace goes to open it, and I close my eyes, the alcohol beginning to calm my racing heart. 

"We're closed, Mr. Shelby." I hear her say and I glance in the direction of the door, seeing Thomas take off his cap as he steps inside. 

"Just get me a drink." He tells her and she doesn't bother to argue, stepping behind the bar. 

He and I just stare at each other for a moment. He's drenched in rain water and looks like he's been dragged through hell and back tonight, and I assume I look just as bad. 

"Penélope." He acknowledges me in a gruff tone, plopping his hat at my feet and reaching over my abdomen to grab a bottle of whiskey and a glass from Grace before sitting at the table closest to the bar, facing me, and slamming the bottle and glass on the table to pour himself a drink. 

"Thomas." I reply, finally looking away from those blue eyes, tempted to reach for the entire bottle of rum. 

"Just waiting on Penélope to get drunk enough to sing." She explains to him in hopes it will cheer him a up a little. Instead, he glares at her in a tired way instead of irritated. "Shall I leave you alone?" Grace asks him. 

"Where's Harry?" He asks her. 

"He took the night off and went to the pictures." She informs him. 

"Right." He mumbles, opening the bottle. "You can go. I'll let you know when I'm done." 

"Alright." She nods, glancing at me. "I will see you, Penélope." 

"You, too, Grace." I wave my hand carelessly, seeing her off as she steps out of the bar. 

It's utter silence between the two of us left inhere now. Too silent for too long. 

"I came here for company." Thomas tells me like it's common sense. 

"Your company just walked out that door." I reply, enjoying the quiet of the room before he starts again. 

"I saw where you put £34,000 on Monaghan Boy." He states and I open my eyes and look at him. 

"And he lost the race." I say it with faux disappointment. 

"You found a loophole." He leans back, looking at me as if he can't quite figure me out. 

"You wouldn't accept the money." 

"Consider it accepted." He sounds slightly irritated. 

"How's your new horse I've yet to meet?" I ask as he downs his drink in one gulp, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, meeting my gaze. 

"I just put a bullet in his head." He says to me casually and I feel a sadness come over me for a moment. 

"Was he lame?" 

I feel like I've asked a wrong question, the way he looks into my soul is nearly enough to make me run out of the door, but I stay. 

"He looked at me the wrong way." He explains blankly, widening his eyes for a split second. "It's not a good idea to look at Tommy Shelby the wrong way."

"Fucking waste." I whisper, knowing he's full of shit. 

"Yeah." He pours more whiskey. "A waste is what it is." Again, he downs it in one gulp and let's out a sigh, his gaze settling in a random place as he thinks aloud. "You know, in France..." He trails off for a moment and I prepare myself for a sob story or something. "In France, I got use to seeing men die." 

Something both of us can relate to. 

"Never got use to seeing horses die..." It's obvious he's in his mind, remembering every occurrence of seeing a horse get struck down in battle. "They die badly." He finishes, taking a moment to snap out of his little daze before grabbing a cigarette from his carton. 

He holds one out to me but I shake my head, and he strikes a match and lights his. 

"Why did you come back to Birmingham?" He asks me. 

"Come back? I was never here to begin with."

"You know what I mean, Penélope." He shoots at me. 

"I told you I couldn't stay in the same country my fiancé died in, any longer." 

"You never went back to Paris, and you didn't stay in France." His tone is sharp and nearly holds an amount of anger to it. "So don't lie to me." He shakes his head a little. "All that money I sent to your address in Paris over the past couple of years was forwarded to London, England. Your mother wrote me back the last time I sent anything and told me she should let me know you never returned from the war. They didn't even know you had survived until they heard you were awarded medals."

I think of something to say, an explanation, and he cuts me off before I can. 

"My guess is you were relieved when your William died, because your aristocratic upbringing and him being the low working class of Birmingham just wasn't going very well with your family in particular. The weight that fell from your shoulders when you found out he was dead made you ashamed, so you ran away the second the war was over and stayed away. Right?"

"You just see technicalities. Things are so much more complex in this life than, 'spoiled rich girl fell in love with poor shit-town boy and let her families embarrassment of him get the best of her'. It's not black and white like that and if I saw things the way you do I'd be utterly miserable." 

"So, I am right." Everything I just said obviously goes over his head. "Just like I'm right about Ada." He mumbles to himself. 

"Right about what?" 

"It doesn't matter."

"You're grumbling about it so it obviously—"

"Family business." He throws at me in a heavy sigh, smoke dancing past his lips as he speaks, silencing my smart comment.

There's a minute of quiet between us before I swallow my pride. 

"I'm not an evil woman. I didn't wish death on him. I just found a silver lining in it." I defend myself quietly. 

"Didn't have to search very far for the fucking thing, did you?" He sniffles and I blink at him. 

"You won't say a word to anyone about it. Right?"

"Do you think I tell people things?" 

I look at him, knowing full well he isn't a gossip, and even if he were, he'd keep this quiet.

He puts an end to our staring competition, clearing his throat and cutting the tension. 

"So, what exactly are you drunk enough to sing?" He asks and I genuinely smile. 

"Anything you want." I suggest. 

"Right. Go on." He coughs, his palm hitting the table before he takes another drink of whiskey. 

"Happy or sad?" I watch as he thinks about it, his blue eyes seemingly watering the smallest bit but a tear never falls as he blinks at me slowly. 

"Sad." The way he says it makes me want to drink some more, but I resist, thinking of the song that will definitely be the death of him in this moment.

"Okay. But I warn you, I'll break your heart." I rub my tired eyes before looking over at him shake his head once, a sense of lost hope around him like a cloud. 

"Already broken." He replies solemnly. 

I look away, unable to meet his gaze as I begin.

"They were summoned from the hillside, they were called in from the glen, and the country found them ready, at the stirring call for men.  
Let no tears add to their hardships, as the soldiers pass along, and although your heart is breaking, make it sing this cheery song." 

The irony is thick in this one, my tear threaded tone and pace the complete opposite of how the song is intended to be sung when Ivor Norvello composed it. 

"Keep the Home Fires Burning, while your hearts are yearning, though your lads are far away, they dream of home, there's a silver lining, through the dark clouds shining, turn the dark cloud inside out, 'til the boys come home." 

My hoarse, slurred, messy performance is completed by emotion taking its toll and deciding to appear in the form of stray tears that slither past the outward corner of my eye and down my temple into my hair line. 

I don't dare look at Thomas, my mind going back to my dream that was left unfinished. 

I remember that moment vividly, despite not ever getting to say the words aloud, I still thought them repeatedly in the days after Will's death: I'm free.


	2. The Concupiscence of A Dead Man Walking

Con•cu•pis•cence ( /känˈkyo͞opəsəns/ )  
strong sexual desire; lust

\2\

My heels squish in to mud as morning dew hits my face, my mind internally cursing the humidity in the air because it's bound to render my hair untamable. 

Soft blue silk and is a bright contrast against the otherwise gloomy surroundings of Small Heath, Birmingham, and I wrap my white fur tighter around me as I approach Tommy, just after a policeman leaves him to himself, just overhearing him buy the Garrison from Harry. 

"Must be nice flashing those pretty blue eyes at God and getting everything you want." I comment, and he looks at me and raises a brow. 

"Rich girl like you lecturing me on being spoiled?" He asks rhetorically, his tone sounding like he's not in the mood for jokes at the moment and I cross my arms. 

"I actually came to Birmingham to humble myself, you see." I obviously bullshit and he scoffs, licking his lips. 

I don't say anything for a moment before motioning to his tire. 

"Norsal can get you help with that, if you'd like me to ring him up." I offer, seeing him take a long drag from his cigarette. 

"It's the least of my worries right now." He waves It off and I furrow my brows. 

"Congratulations on your sister." I decide to change the subject to one that's more cheerful. "Kerri told me she married your friend, Freddie Thorne. It must be exciting for two of your favorite people to be married." 

"Unfortunately that is the greatest of my worries." He admits, clearing his throat. 

"Why?"

"Freddie's a bloody communist, Penélope." He states roughly, as if scolding me for daring to think his union with Tommy's sister is something to be celebrated. "But, yes, the police hunting Freddie and Ada down and threatening to throw them both in prison is quite exciting, nonetheless." It's sarcastic, and I rub my lips together. 

"It wasn't my place to begin with, Tommy. I apologize." I tell him, about to head home when he stops me. 

"Have you ever been to the races?" He asks randomly. 

"Not since I was little, why?"

"I'll be going to Cheltenham in a couple of days. Being that you never got to see the horse I put down, I decided I'd make up for it by showing you a slew of horses." He offers. 

"I'll have to check my schedule to make sure it's cleared." I inform him. "Being spoiled takes up quite a bit of my time." 

"Just say 'yes' and I'll give you money to buy a new dress for the occasion." 

"And what will people think when they hear Tommy Shelby gave me money in the street?" I ask sarcastically and he reaches for his pocket to grab some cash. "I have plenty of dresses to choose from, Tommy, I don't want anymore of your money." I refuse, reaching my hand out and stopping him, giving him a small smile and he blinks at me slowly. 

"If you say so." He coughs after a moment and I pull my hand away from his, fighting the urge to fan at my warm face. 

"I have to be going or Norsal will be worried." I tell him, looking around. "Are you sure about your tire?" 

"I'll go to a garage and get some help." He assures me. 

"Alright. I'll see you later, then."

"Yes." He nods. 

"Goodnight." I bid him goodbye, hearing him return the favor as I step down the road and head for Norsal and Kerri's house. 

Later in the night, I slide a razor across my skin, clearing a line of hair in its path as the blade slices it down to the skin of my leg. 

My door suddenly bursts open and Norsal curses, turning around quickly and groaning like a man who's been blinded. 

"Do you not know how to lock a fucking door, Penélope?!" He asks and I glance at his back and roll my eyes. 

"Do you not know how to knock, Norsal?" I reply, rinsing my razor in the water before repeating. 

I pause myself and stand, grabbing my towel to wrap around me, and clear my throat. 

"I'm covered now." I assure him and he cautiously turns around and goes on with what he originally planned to accomplish by coming up here. 

"Tommy told me he's taking you to Cheltenham." He states and I nod. "Do you know what he'll be doing at Cheltenham race track, Penélope?" 

I just blink at him, furrowing my brows a little bit. 

"Uh, watching the race?" 

"Assisting Billy Kimber against those Lee boys that are going to be stealing his money." He says. 

"I've no idea who the Lees are but he sounds like he's just lending a friendly hand, Norsal, it's not that serious." I tell him and he scoffs loudly. 

"They're Gypsies, Penélope. Do you know why he's even going after the Lees to begin with? Huh?" 

I stay quiet, knowing he's about to make his point. 

"He started a bloody war with them. Sliced a few of their eyes up pretty good. His only motivation behind going to Cheltenham is to do further damage. He could give a fuck whether Kimber has his money or not. He's just selling himself to the hoity-toity bastard so the Peaky Blinders have an edge."

"Is this your way of telling me to stay away from him?" I ask lowly, looking at him and realizing there's no kindness in his face at the moment. 

"It's me giving you the facts about what kind of man he is, Penélope. A man not suitable for you." 

"He's your friend. Why're you speaking badly about him?"

"Everything I just told you is fact. It's not gossip or lies. I don't have to make him out to be bad because he does that all by himself. And just because he's my friend doesn't mean I think he's ready for anything you've to offer him. God knows you certainly don't need to jump in to anything head first." He adds and I let out a shaky breath, holding back my tears of irritation. 

"Alright." I mumble, not in the mood to argue with him. 

"I just want you to be safe, Penélope. I'm not trying to be mean." He says next and I nod, smiling softly. 

"I know."

"So, you'll be sure to tell him you can't go?" 

"Yes." I agree, crossing my fingers behind my back. 

"Alright. I'll see you when dinner is ready." He tells me before leaving and I discard my towel and sink back in to the tub, picking up my shaving where I left off. 

\2\

In two days time, my stomach explodes with butterflies as soon as Norsal leaves for work, my eyes shifting to the clock to see it's 7:00. 

I put on makeup and slip my undergarments on before fixing my hair. 

"I'm off to run a couple of errands, Penélope. Do you need anything?" Kerri calls up to me. 

"No, thank you!" I reply, waiting for her to leave. 

"Alright, I'll be back by lunch." With this, she's shutting the door, and I pull my curtain back a little bit to see her stepping down the street. 

I put my heels on and practically sprint down the stairs to avoid being late to meet Tommy. 

"Gone to the races. I will gladly accept the consequences." I say aloud as I scribble it down on to a piece of stray paper, signing it, "Sincerest condolences, P." 

I leave it on the table and head out to the Garrison, where Tommy told me to meet him the last time we spoke. 

He arrives at 9:00 sharp, not giving me as second glance as I get in the car. 

"Is it just the two of us going to the races?" I ask him, shutting the door behind me. 

"Something like that." He replies, glancing at my dark green dress. "I told you to wear red last night." He adds, and I scoff. 

"You can tell me to do anything. Doesn't mean I'll listen." I shoot back, moving my hair from my face. 

"'Wear red to match his handkerchief' I recall." He repeats what he told me last night, not paying my words any mind and I roll my eyes. 

"Your mistake was mentioning a 'he' and his handkerchief." I explain, glancing at him and he shakes his head a little, not bothering to reply. 

Once we arrive, he begins leading me a route that's a bit sketchy, and I soon realize that's because it is. 

"I don't think we're allowed back here, Mr. Shelby." I mumble to him as he puts his hand between my shoulder blades so my pace keeps up with his. 

"Miss Lowe, with all due respect, hush and just trust me." He replies calmly as we make our way down some stairs. "The back ways keep me out of trouble. Race tracks are lawless places. I can't stand petty criminals." He adds and I roll my eyes. "This way." He motions around a corner and I follow, glancing around at the hall we're in as we keep going. 

"Will we get to lay a bet?" I ask. 

"You've spent enough of your money on bets. Gambling is for mugs." He argues and I look at him pointedly, slowing down a little. "C'mon, Penélope. This way." 

There's the smallest hint of a smile on his lips and I pick up my pace again, matching his perfectly. 

"You're lucky you're with me or you'd be wasting your money on fixed races." He says next. 

"Little late for that, don't you think?" I ask. 

"You wasted £34,000 to spite me. Don't act like you miss that money now."

"I go to extremes to spite people. I learned it from a dear friend of mine back in London." I inform him and he licks his lips. 

"Ciara Tailen, right?" He asks as we turn another corner and push past a group of men and I furrow my brows a little. 

"How do you—"

"I do my research." He mumbles, gently grasping at my wrist to keep me from falling behind again. 

"Obviously not thoroughly being that she hasn't gone by the name 'Tailen' since the war ended. It's 'Solomons', now." I say to him and he nods. 

"I knew that. I was using the other as bait so you'd confirm I'm right. Thank you for doing so."

I decide to not speak on the matter anymore, clearing my throat. 

"How exactly does one fix a race?" 

"How should I know?" He replies, pushing a swinging door open. "Alright, you do the talking." He says suddenly and I look at him, confused. 

"What?"

"Tell security you are Lady Sarah Duggan of Connemara. You got lost when you went to look for the boy riding your horse, uhh, Dandy Flower. If they ask about me, say that I'm Prussian and don't speak a word of English." He orders calmly and I gain a heap of nerves seeing the group of security men ahead of us, my feet taking a step back but he stops me, his hand on my back again. "C'mon, posh girl. Earn your three quid." He reassures me and I give him one last glance before calming myself and stepping to the security guard, he and I smiling politely at the stranger. 

We make it past the guards with no issue, him helping us to a room of wealth with music, dancing, and plenty of drinking to go around. 

We stand on the balcony, watching over the crowd dance and drink, all of them look like walking stacks of money. 

"I still prefer the Garrison." Tommy comments, taking a drag of his cigarette and I smile a little, glancing at him from the corner of my eye before going back to pay attention to the crowd. 

I feel him looking at me before he starts up again. 

"Do you dance?" He asks and I huff out a breath. 

"Not since Will." I admit and he gives me a certain look, the corner of his mouth pulling upwards a little. "What?"

"Lady Sarah of Connemara, will you dance with me?" 

I blink at him a couple of times, trying not to smile like an idiot before nodding a little, hesitantly taking his hand that he's offering to me. 

Once we get to the ground floor with the crowd, we fall in to the rhythm with the upbeat band. 

As we move, I see him looking over at a wealthy looking man at a table that's out of the way, puffing a cigar as a man beside him jots things down in to a notebook. 

"Friends of yours?" I ask quietly, paying attention to how his hand readjusts on my back. 

"Something like that." He repeats what he said before we left Birmingham and I rub my red lips together scoffing. 

"I'm not an idiot, you know." I say to him. "Norsal said you came here to help Billy Kimber against the Lees." He doesn't say anything as I accuse him. "That's him over there, isn't it?" 

"Yeah." He doesn't deny it, spinning me around for a split second. 

"I'm a pawn in this, aren't I?" I ask next, noticing the red handkerchief in Kimber's pocket of his suit. 

"You won't be harmed, Penélope." He assures me with a sigh. 

"If I'm compliant." I correct him. "Fucking gangsters." 

"As if they don't have people like us in Camden Town." He shoots back under his breath and I raise a brow. 

"Certainly not ones that use women close to them as leverage." I spit back. "I suppose Birmingham isn't big on honor or basic sense of decent morality. A majority of you are gentiles, after all." 

"Every man like me, whether we're from Birmingham or London—or wherever bloody else—do bad things. Morality is purely in the eye of the one holding a gun, sweetheart. It has nothing to do with honor nor religion."

"I should've listened to Norsal." I mumble, rolling my eyes. 

"And why didn't you?" 

I don't know how to answer that, so I pretend he never asked such a thing.

Before long he's pulling his time piece out of his pocket, glancing at it, putting it back, and making a rather forceful move to get us closer to the door in the corner. 

"We wouldn't be running, would we?" I ask him, taking notice of his hurried pace before he finally lets go of me and I walk closely behind him. 

"What would you do if I told you I've decided to move up in the world? Become a legitimate business man?" He asks rhetorically, raising a brow as he pushes the door open ajar. 

"Like hell you're serious." I nearly chuckle at the thought of Peaky Blinders going straight. 

"I'm always serious." He states, not a glimmer of joke in his eyes as were met by his brother Arthur, who's got a couple bleeding cuts on his face but seems fine otherwise. 

Bags of money are dropped on the floor at our feet as the music continues in the background. 

"We chases the Lees across the track and down to Devon road. We got every penny back." Arthur tells Tommy as Thomas starts picking the bags up. "Nice dress." He says to me. "You can wear that to my pub." 

"Buy the boys a drink." Tommy instructs him. "Anyone hurt?"

"Ah, just a few cuts and bruises." Arthur motions to his bleeding face and Tommy nods and pats his shoulder a couple of times before pushing past me. 

"Off we go, Lady Sarah." He voices to me in passing and I give Arthur one last glance before following him. 

I decide to take a detour as he nears Kimber's table, making my way to the bar to get a drink and smoke a cigarette, trying to remember the last time I was at one of these posh things. 

It was in London about a year ago, and Ciara and I had pissed on the party by getting drunk off of our asses and offending one of the men. 

He, in turn, called Ciara every derogatory term in the book for a Jew and a lady, to which she busted a bottle of champagne and launched herself over a table to slit his throat with the jagged glass. 

Getting her to calm down when I wasn't sober, myself, was like attempting to get a horse's hoof into a baby's shoe. 

The man her husband sent us out with to keep an eye on us panicked and called her husband, who knew damn she had started it, and gave her an earful when we got back home, but he defended her like hell to the police and the man who had nearly gotten killed by her. 

That was the last time we were allowed to go anywhere without her husband. 

The memory is interrupted by a tap at my shoulder and I turn to see Billy Kimber, an uncomfortable dread washing over me. 

He hasn't even spoken, yet he has the confidence of God, but the legitimacy of Father Christmas, and the space between my legs couldn't be more dry. 

"Your man said it was alright for me to have this dance." He says to me smoothly and I arch my brows and glance in Tommy's direction, but he's too busy talking to the man I assume is doing business on Kimber's behalf. 

Fucking gangsters. 

"Of course." I reply calmly, giving him a small smile. 

It's a slow song, which causes the two of us to be closer than what I'm comfortable with.

Every now and again I catch Tommy looking at us, cigarette hanging from his lips. 

Our dance seems to go on forever, but when he finally pulls away and excuses himself to go back to the table to Tommy, I take the opportunity to go back to the bar for another drink of champagne. 

Kimber says something to Tommy before looking my way, his eyes scraping up my body and nausea rises in the back of my throat although I don't feel ill. 

I turn back to face the bar, more alcohol fueling in to my system as Tommy approaches me with a slightly bothered look to his face. 

"So listen, uh, we're going to go for dinner at Kimber's house. He has a place a couple miles away. I have some business to settle first with his accountant, so, you go on ahead with Kimber." He explains and I think for a moment. 

"Just me and him?"

"Yeah. 'Til I'm done here." He nods, although he looks like he doesn't necessarily want to throw me to a wolves. "Is that all right?" 

I don't reply, just staring at him as if he's lost his damn mind. 

"Look, I'll throw in another three quid for your extra time." He offers. 

"I don't want your money. William would roll over in his grave if he knew you were turning me out like a whore." I snap at him. 

He lets out a short breath, his eyes studying mine. 

"Everyone's a whore, Penélope. We just sell different parts of ourselves. The deal is I give him two hours with you. He thinks he's a ladies' man. He thinks he can seduce you. Whenever you want, just kick him in the balls." He tells me in a near whisper and I roll my jaw. 

"I have no ground, Tommy. He's going to have the upper hand no matter what I do."

"With that mindset he will." He points at me. "We all have to make sacrifices, Miss Lowe."

He leaves me to myself, joining Billy a few feet away and carrying on conversation. 

After a moment, Billy's stepping to me, extending his hand and trying his best to sound sexy while saying, "Mademoiselle." 

I want to tell him to never speak my home language again, but I don't want to piss Tommy off by ruining any deal for him so I keep my mouth shut. 

Actually arriving at Billy Kimber's house and having to acknowledge him so intensely is a completely different set of circumstances. 

He has no reason to behave because we're alone. 

I catch a glimpse of all the glass objects I can spot as I study the room he's brought me to. It's got a pool table in the center of it and a gramophone in the corner, one he sets up and starts a record on. 

"You showed me up back there at the races." He tells me, a slow song starting to drearily seep out of the speaker. "Why don't you teach me how to dance properly." 

He insists and grabs at me, roughly pulling me to him to dance. 

"I'm much better at as Charleston." I tell him to try to get him away from me. 

"But then we'd be far away. I want to dance like this." He tells me as if I'm stupid, and I mentally roll my eyes. "C'mon you weren't so stiff back there, were you?" His hand slips farther down my back a bit, his other hand tightly grasping mine. "Hmm?" He's in my personal space, his forehand nearly against mine as I try to seamlessly turn my face from his in a subtle way that won't insult him. "Have you ever been in a house this big?" 

I want to inform him I've lived in bigger houses, but in this age, insulting the size of a man's home is like insulting the size of his prick because a big house equals big money. 

He stares at me like a starving man and my stomach churns, my mouth watering slightly and I fight back the urge to vomit. 

"Look at you." He mumbles, fingers catching in my long, wavy hair. "You look like a bloody film star."

He goes to kiss me but I turn away, his lips landing on my neck in turn, and I feel slimy spit and his tongue against my skin before I shove him off of me. 

He seems a bit disappointed by my refusal, passive aggression taking over the presence of the room, tension beginning to build around him like a fog and I watch as he picks up a drinking glass, makes direct eye contact with me, and drops it, causing parts of it to break off. 

"Oh, look I've dropped something. Pick it up." He orders me sternly and I drop my patience like he dropped the glass. 

"If I pick it up—"

"There's no 'if', you will pick it up. I want to watch you pick it up, now fucking pick up the glass." He barks. 

"—I'll cut you with it." I finish my statement that he interrupted and he furrows his brows. 

"Did you just threaten me?!" He roars, stepping closer to me, and I don't answer him. "Right, you little slag!" He grabs at my arms and spins me around to face the pool table before bending me over it and yanking at the bottom of my dress, and I'm nearly paralyzed with fear of the inevitable. "I've tried to be nice! If I drop a glass on the floor, you bend over and and fucking pick up the fucking glass! Okay?!"

Before he can get my dress above my thighs, the door is opening with a commotion that includes one of Kimber's men shouting at Tommy as he stumbles past him and takes in the scene before him. 

"What?!" Kimber's displeased tone rattles my eardrums as he keeps a hold of me. "What are you doing here? I've got another hour." He tells Tommy sharply, and Tommy raises his brows and takes deep breaths. 

"Just wait. Listen to me. Just listen to me." Tommy tells him cooly as if something urgent has come up that Kimber needs to know about. "I was going to let you go through with it, but in the end, my conscience got the better of me. She looks good on the outside," He points at me, "but she's got the clap." 

Kimber is four feet away from me within half a second, looking at me like I have leprosy, straightening his clothes and fixing his hair as if he didn't just try to force himself on me. 

"Yeah. Syphilis." Tommy adds, glancing at me, and I'm trying to calm my shaking body and catch my breath. "When you took a shine to her I thought to use her. Someone told me she had the syph, I thought, 'what the hell?'. Call it my better nature." Tommy lies and Kimber and I look at each other with disgust in both of our eyes for different reasons. "She's, uh, she's a whore." Tommy motions to me and finishes his bullshit. "Just go and wait in the car." He tells me as I walk past him to leave. 

"Va te faire foutre." I venomously spew at him before I go, stomping past Kimber's poor wife, slamming the door, and practically sprinting to the car. 

Once he arrives and we get past the gate of Kimber's driveway, I glare at him. 

"I'd punch you in the cock if I weren't afraid of breaking a fucking nail." I throw at him, cutting my eyes. "How dare you toss me to him like that? Anything can happen to me, or anyone else for that matter, as long as you get your bloody fucking part of the deal, right? The French bitch is collateral damage, after all, so why the hell not?" 

"Penélo—"

"Oh, no. No, you see, you don't get the privilege of even speaking my name for a long, long, long time. So feel free to go back to referring to me as 'William Lowe's fiancée'. Selfish bastard." 

He takes my verbal assault, not saying anything as we continue on driving. 

"I'm not a whore." I state. 

"I know."

"I don't have the clap."

"I know."

I cross my arms and look at him once more, my lips rubbing together. 

"You came back for me." I point out, raising a brow. "Why did you come back for me, Thomas?" 

He doesn't say a word in response.


End file.
